


Say Anything (Or Nothing. That's Okay, Too)

by AlyKat



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Clint's a determined little cuss, Clint's seen too many teenage romcoms, M/M, Phil's a little bit of a jerk, Pre-Slash, Romantic Comedy, but he has every right to be, high school sucks, spring dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1248061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Phil Coulson gets publicly humiliated in the hall of their high school, Clint makes it his personal mission to put things right. No matter how long it takes, or what he has to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Anything (Or Nothing. That's Okay, Too)

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Ralkana for not only prompting this, but also cheerleading it, and giving it a quick beta before it's released into the wild. 
> 
> I don't own Phil or Clint, they're Marvel's toys, I'm just playing with them. 
> 
> "Here In My Heart" performed by Chicago and copyrighted to...whoever has the rights to it right now.

* * *

 

It had taken Phil six months to go up to Toby MacIntyre and ask him if he would like to go to the spring dance with him. SHIELD Academy was generally really good about being accepting of who a person was, but not everyone followed the examples.

“ _WHAT?!_ ”

Phil took a half step back, eyes wide and slightly terrified. Oh God, he’d misread the signs.

“I...asked if you wanted to--”

“No, don’t repeat it. I know _exactly_ what you said. I just want to know why the hell you’d think I’d actually go to the dance with _you_? I’m not _queer_ , Coulson. Get the fuck away from me. Go bat your eyes and grind your ass against Stark’s dick or something. Just stay the hell away from me and mine.”

A backpack connected hard with his shoulder as Toby shoved past him, pushing him into a locker and leaving him completely broken and embarrassed in the hall. The entire senior class had stopped to stare at what was happening, at Phil Coulson getting utterly humiliated.

Tears prickled at the backs of his eyes, his throat tight and burning as he forced himself to stand up straight again. Tugging the bottom of his T-shirt down, smoothing it back into place, Phil squared his shoulders and slipped a stoic mask back into place, the hall quickly filling with whispers and snickers as classmates sprang back into action. Let them talk. Rumors about Phil would beat him to his next class and right then, the eighteen year old couldn’t have cared any less even if he tried.

Holding his head high, Phil turned on his heels and strode off to Political Science, his heart and his pride completely shattered.

From a few lockers down from his, a pair of bright blue-green eyes softened in sympathy before narrowing at the people around him giggling at the poor guy’s rejection. How the fuck would those douchenozzles feel if they’d been publicly humiliated like that? Frowning hard, Clint Barton grabbed his books, slammed his locker shut and hurried off to class, already formulating a plan in his head.

* * *

 

A note taped to his locker door was the first thing to appear a few days after having his pride stomped on.

_Forget Toby. He’s obviously unworthy if he was stupid enough to turn you down. Clearly not worthy enough to see how gorgeous you are._

No name. No clue as to who wrote the note or delivered it. It unsettled Phil a little, put him on edge and made him feel like someone was taking advantage of the scene and pulling a horrible joke on him. With a scowl in place, Phil crumpled the note and tossed it into the garbage can on his way by. Whoever was dicking around with him could rot for all he cared.

Two days later, another note appeared, this time tucked into the slot on his locker door. Phil glared at it, tore it up, tossed it, and stormed off to Physics. He didn’t have time for nonsense. It’d been bad enough the first time the note appeared, the second time was just uncalled for.

Clint frowned as Phil didn’t even read the note that time. The dance was in a week! Desperate times called for desperate measures.

* * *

 

Dressed in his best khaki cargo pants and a clean T-shirt, Clint knocked sharply on the Coulsons’ front door. He quickly checked his hair in the glass of the storm door before the main one opened, a woman who had the same pretty eyes as Phil opening the door to greet him.

“Yes?”

“Uhm. Hi. Evening. Is Phil home, by chance?”

Mrs. Coulson looked him up and down for a moment before nodding. “He is. Would you like to come in?”

Clint quickly shook his head. Oh no! No way was he going to embarrass Phil anymore than he already was. “No thank you, ma’am. I think I’d better wait out here.”

A frown formed at the corners of the woman’s mouth, but she nodded and slipped back into the house, calling up the stairs to her son, “Phillip? There’s a young man waiting to speak to you on the porch.”

Bottom lip tucked between his teeth, Clint bounced from foot to foot as Mrs. Coulson disappeared from sight and Phil soon took her place at the door. For a moment, his face brightened with hopefulness, only to crash and build up the walls once more when he realized it wasn’t who he thought (or hoped) it would be. Clint’s palms were sweating as he took a step back and smiled sweetly at Phil.

“Hi, Phil.”

“Uh...hi?”

"I'm glad you're home. I was hoping I could talk to you about the da---"

"I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

Clint's face fell a bit, his shoulders drooping as he shifted his weight to his left foot and ran his sweaty palms over his slacks once more.

"Uhm...Barton? Clint Barton? I sit like two seats behind and one row over from you in English?"

Phil stared at him blankly and for a moment Clint worried if this plan of his was going to backfire spectacularly in his face.

"...the one Ms. Hargrove always has to wake up?"

"Oh! Right. Uh...hi."

Okay, so, Phil didn’t exactly know who he was. A minor detail. Despite the fact they’d been in the same class since 8th grade, and had thus been just a handful of lockers down from each other for the past five years but hey! It was a big school! Nobody was expected to know everybody, right?

Clearing his throat, Clint put his smile back into place and nodded, hands finally tucking into his pockets. “Hey, so, listen. I was at my locker when you asked Toby to go to the dance with you. I saw the way he treated you and I just wanted to say--”

The door promptly slammed in his face, rattling the glass of the storm door as the sound of feet tromping back up the stairs could be heard from within. Right. Well. That plan failed.

Time for plan C.

* * *

 

With only three days left until the dance, Clint tried his luck with the third trick he had up his sleeve. He and Phil shared lunch. Well, kind of. In a way? Okay, so technically Clint was suppose to be in gym class while Phil was at lunch, but the gym was just two doors down from the cafeteria, and there was a drinking fountain right outside the lunchroom, so it was easy for Clint to slip out under the guise of going for a drink, only to slip into the crowded and noisy cafeteria and settle himself down across from Phil.

His dark blond hair was damp with sweat, but his blue-green eyes shone brightly under his long lashes as he rested his elbows on the table and leaned in close. This was a flawless plan. A thing of beauty! Phil was a sweet guy, Clint knew that for a fact! He was sweet and kind and there was no way he’d do anything to cause further embarrassment to himself or to Clint. Not with so many people present and watching.

Grinning, Clint rested his chin on his hand and waited for the other teen to look up. When he did, Clint’s smile grew all the brighter. God, Coulson had gorgeous eyes! “Hey. Would you go to the dance with me?”

Phil’s fork clattered to the table, the color draining from his face as the whole lunchroom went silent.

Clint glanced around awkwardly, clearing his throat and tugging at his damp T-shirt a bit as it suddenly strangled him slowly. “Uhm. Please?”

Without a word, Phil stood from his place, picked his lunch tray off the table, and overturned it, milk and all, atop Clint’s already sweat soaked head. Cream of turkey and mashed potatoes dripped from his ears and off the tip of his nose, the milk running in little rivers down his cheeks while the mixed vegetables (Clint _hated_ mixed vegetables) sat at the top of his skull like a tiny dunce cap. Which he really felt like he was at the moment.

The entire room burst into laughter as Phil stormed out, leaving Clint to sit soggy and food covered at the table.

Apparently, even sweet Phil Coulson wasn’t actually above publicly embarrassing someone. Good to know. That left just one last attempt.

“Plan D...I need a boombox…”

* * *

 

Clint stood on the Coulsons’ front lawn, his bicycle dropped on the ground behind him. Who cared if it was after eight o’clock on a school night? He was determined, dammit!

Which was why he borrowed (stole) his foster brother’s vintage, circa 1987 boombox, dressed in his baggy black cargo pants, beat up old combat boots, a distressed T-Shirt for some punk band or something (another thing borrowed from his foster brother), and the tan shin length rain coat his foster mom kept in the entryway closet, set out on his bike and was now standing in the lawn. The boombox was heavier than he thought it’d be. Of course, anything would be heavy if held above your head for too long.

_This!_ This plan would work! It worked in the movie!

_What I've been feelin' I can't explain_   
_Lost in the muse of your eyes_   
_An' I'm fallin' so hard_   
_Just like the rain_   
_Comes a time when ya cross the line and you know you got to believe_

_'Cause here in my heart_   
_There's a dream that's unbroken_   
_An' it gets in my way_   
_But it won't be denied_   
_Here in my heart the door is still open_   
_Waiting for you to walk into my life_

_I know!_   
_(That) I may never sleep again_   
_'Till I see you (ooh oo-oo-ooh)_   
_Oh, baby, I know (I know!)_   
_Life is too short and I can't pretend_   
_It's not about you (not about you)_   
_Can't do without you_   
_Wooo oo-oo-ooh_

~*~*~

Inside the house, Mrs. Coulson leaned against her son’s doorframe, her arms folded over her chest and a sad smile on her face. “Phillip? How long are you going to make that poor boy stand out there?”

Phil glared down at his Trigonometry homework, scowling fiercely as he scribbled out one answer and wrote in another. The sappy love songs drifting up from the street had been driving him nuts for the past half hour. How the hell had Clint even been able to hold that ancient stereo up that long?!

“Forever. If that’s how long it takes for him to get the hint.”

Mrs. Coulson crossed the room, moving to sit on Phil’s bed and take his homework from his hands. “Sweetheart, look at me.” She waited until his grey eyes lifted to meet hers. “You are so young, baby. High school heartbreaks are a part of life, believe me, but honey. There is a boy on our front lawn reenacting an iconic eighties teenage love story, which to be completely honest with you, if a guy had done that for me? I would have been instantly in love.”

A huff escaped Phil as he shook his head and folded his arms around his stomach. “He’s just here to mock me, Mom. Make fun of me. It’s just some massive joke or something.”

“I doubt that.”

“Mom --”

“Phillip. If he were only doing this to mess with you, do you think he’d be out there right now after you dumped your lunch on his head this afternoon?”

Phil’s eyes grew wide with terror. “How’d you--”

“I’m a mom. I know all.”

“Maria. Snitch.” He frowned harder and dropped back against his headboard. See if he ever trusted his best friend with a secret ever again.

The bed groaned under the extra adult weight as Mrs. Coulson turned to sit cross legged to face him. She reached out to put a gentle touch to his ankle, drawing his attention back to her. It was obvious how badly he was still hurting from the rejection, from being totally raw and vulnerable right there in front of everyone he’d known for so long. Yet instead of just accepting it and moving on, he’d gone and given the same kind of hurt and embarrassment to someone else who was trying to help him.

“Honey, I know things have been rough for you since your dad died. And I know you’re a teenager, so it’s your God given right to be mad at the world and hate anyone who blinks funny. But baby, it’s obvious this boy likes you and would like to go with you to the dance. Would you _please_ at least go out there so he’ll put that boombox down? Before his arms give out and it lands on his head?”

Phil had to laugh at that. It was a funny mental image! The thought of Clint getting bonked on the head and just sort of teetering back and forth before crumbling to the ground. Okay, so, maybe that was mean.

...and maybe so was dumping his lunch on Clint’s head…

...and slamming the door in his face…

God he’d been such a _jerk_!!

Groaning, Phil slumped over and hid his face in his hands. He didn’t want to go out there and apologize, but his mom did have a point. If Clint had just been playing a gag on him, he should have given up after the lunchroom incident. Which meant the other teen really _did_ want to go to the dance with him?

Quickly, he pushed himself off the bed and went rushing down the stairs, skipping the last two and stumbling into the front door. He waited a minute to make sure Clint was really still there before slowly opening the door and stepping out onto the porch. His stoic expression in place despite the fact his stomach was filled with butterflies.

“What are you doing, Barton?” He finally asked, voice giving nothing anyway except for fake unimpressed.

“Losing all circulation in my arms in the hopes of convincing you to go to the dance with me?”

Phil could see Clint’s arms were shaking, the color was drained from his fingers and was quickly draining from the boy’s face as well. _Oh hell._ Stepping down off the porch, Phil reached up to hit stop on the cassette player before yet another Chicago love song started playing and tugged at the sleeve of the rain coat until Clint carefully lowered his arms.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly stubborn?” He asked, taking the boombox from Clint and moving to sit on the front steps.

Clint followed him, awkwardly shaking his arms and flexing in an attempt to get blood back into them and make sure they could still work. He shrugged (sort of) and carefully set himself down next to Phil. “A few times…”

Chuckling softly, Phil ducked his head, staring at his own hands as he silently thought about everything that had happened the last few days. “I’m sorry I dumped my lunch on your head this afternoon…”

“S’ok. Reaffirmed my dislike for mixed veggies. You did me a favor.”

That earned Clint another chuckle and the teen was pretty sure he could hear that sound for the rest of his life and never grow tired of it.

“And for slamming the door in your face…”

“Please. You think you’re the first to have done that?”

Phil glanced up, eyebrow lifted in question. Clint rolled his eyes and shrugged, huffing dramatically. “Okay, so, you might have been the first guy I’ve ever tried to ask out do that. But trust me, others have slammed the door in my face before. And at least you didn’t bust my nose. So, plus side.”

Another chuckle, this time with a slight smile that oh yeah, Clint could definitely live the rest of his days seeing Phil like that.

“What about the notes in the locker, then?”

“Uhhhh...admittedly, those were poorly timed. I think I shoulda skipped those in the first place, actually.” Clint’s cheeks flushed with warmth that reached all the way to the tips of his ears as he reached up to rub at the back of his neck. Looking back up, Clint was met with a small smile.

“I thought you were being a jackass and dicking me around.”

Clint smirked, shrugging a bit. “I don’t dick around until at least the third date.”

A full out laugh escaped Phil at that one, his smile brighter for a moment before it quickly dimmed and he swallowed thickly. Clint was pretty damn good looking, so why wouldn’t he just be messing with him? And if he wasn’t, then why approach him now? A pity ask?

“Why do you want to go to the dance with me? We’ve never even spoken befor--”

“Nuh! Not true! We’ve spoken a few times!” It was depressing how bright and happy Clint’s smile was as he sat up straighter. “Eighth grade, I got sick and you were sitting in the office with a headache. You let me have the only chair in there because you said I looked like I could use it more.”

Phil tilted his head, eyebrows knitted together in thought, trying and failing to remember that moment in time.

“Ninth grade, you said hi to me in the bathroom, which was a little weird but I wasn’t going to object.” Clint paused to think, worrying at his bottom lip. “Uhhhh...oh! Tenth grade! Tenth grade I was laying in the hall with my head in my locker! You tripped over me and actually apologized to me instead of bitching me out like other people would have. And uh...well last year I’m not sure if you said anything to me or not but...yeah. We’ve spoken before. Kind of.”

It was endearing and yet, kind of sad the way Clint remembered those small interactions between them and yet Phil hadn’t even realized they sat so close to each other in English class. Honestly, it made him wonder and worry about whether or not the other teen actually had any friends to begin with.

Frowning a bit, he tilted his head again, watching Clint carefully. “And of those three times, how many times did you talk back to me?” It was an honest question. Phil really couldn’t remember those times Clint mentioned. Well, he thought he might remember having tripped over someone in the hallway once. But, that was two years ago, so his memory was a little fuzzy.

Again, Clint blushed a bit. “Uhm. Heh. None.” He looked up to meet Phil’s eyes and shrugged. “I was always too tongue tied to answer back. I mean, shit, everyone in school knows who you are. And you’re freakin’ gorgeous. Why the hell waste your time talking to me, ya know?”

Phil frowned, shaking his head, not at all understanding. “I still don’t know why you’d want to go to the dance with me? Why wait until _now_ to come up to me? I mean...you don’t even know the first thing about me!”

Clint quirked an eyebrow and held up a hand, ticking things off on his fingers as he went along. “Phillip J. Coulson. Birthday July 8th. You’re gonna be turning nineteen this summer. Your dad died when you were eleven. You’re an only child. You love Captain America anything. You’re smart. Funny. Kind. Pretty sure I could get completely lost in your smile and your eyes. Do you really want me to go on?”

Laughing softly, Phil shook his head, waving Clint off. “Alright, alright...so you do know stuff about me. But I don’t know anything about yo--”

“Clinton Francis Barton,” Clint held his hand out to shake, a smile already plastered on his face. “Born June 18th, I’ll be eighteen. I’m originally from Iowa. Lost my parents when I was eight. Ran away to the circus when I was nine. Was picked up and put in foster care when I was thirteen which is when I started school here. I can hit any target you put in front of me, and I’m pretty sure I’ve wanted to hug you and kiss you since that first day in the principal’s office when you gave up your chair for me.” His smile softened, turning shy and hopeful. “And I’d really, really like to take you to the dance on Saturday? Please?”

Staring at him for a long, silent moment, Phil took a deep breath, letting it out in a hurried huff of air. “Do you even own a suit?”

Clint’s grin grew tenfold as he shook his hair, slightly shaggy hair swishing back and forth. “Nope. Thought we could make a statement though. I’ll wear my nice cargo pants, and I might even maybe own a polo shirt or something I could throw on.”

Phil laughed again, grinning as he nodded and pushed himself to stand back up and dust the seat of his jeans off quickly. “Am I going to get to ride on the handlebars to the dance?” He nodded to the discarded bike, a coy little smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Grinning from ear to ear, Clint shook his head and reached back behind him, stretching his arms and back. “Nope. But, you’re welcome to sit shotgun in my foster dad’s classic Charger he’s letting me borrow that night.” The grin turned slightly wicked as Clint stooped to pick the boombox back up, ready to take it home again. “Bet Dopey Toby doesn’t have one of those, does he?”

“He’s flunked his driving test three times already.” Phil smirked back, just as wicked.

Clint stopped dead in his tracks, head tilted and jaw slacked. “What the hell did you ever see in that jackass?”

Shrugging, Phil placed his hand on the doorknob and gave it a turn. “I dunno. But...I think I’m finally glad he turned me down.” With another smile and nod, he slipped himself past the storm door and stood ready to open the main one. “See you in English tomorrow, Clint.”

His heart soaring, Clint gave an over dramatic stage bow. “I’ll do my best to stay awake.”

“We’ll pass notes about the dance.”

“Sounds like a date to me.”

~*~Fini~*~


End file.
